The cold hand of mortality touching my neck
Pop culture icons of my childhood and early adulthood are dropping like flies. Ed (”Heeeere’s Johnny!”) McMahon, Charlie’s Angel Farrah Fawcett, and now–in a real shocker–Michael Jackson.
Fawcett repositioned herself from pop-actress and B- or C-movie star to tragic figure by chronicling her death to anal cancer in a documentary that was shown this May on TV.
Ed was, of course, Ed, all the way. Like many others in these uncertain economic times, he was facing foreclosure on his mansion last year, but managed to re-negotiate with help from friends.
And Michael…sigh.
What can one say about a guy who started out with an angel’s voice, moved on to pop-music stardom and creative risk-taker with “Thriller” and its associated music video–which was a ground-breaker when they made it–and then became a mockery for multiple alleged cosmetic surgeries and accusations of pedophilia…?
A tragic figure all around.
I am finding all of this somewhat shocking, and a nasty reminder that we’re all getting older. McMahon was 86 and had lived a long and full life; Fawcett was 62; Jackson…? How old was he? Oh, that’s right, he was 50 years old.
Wait a minute.
I am 50 years old.
Whoa.
So there it is: my youth is officially over with. I can start reading the obituary pages of the newspapers, scanning them for names I know. Next up is starting to drive slower. Then I’ll be saying, “Eh?! What’s that?! Speak up, sonny, I can’t hear you!” One foot in the grave already…
(That last part is mostly meant in jest. Mostly.)
posted in Music, News, Pop Culture | 2 Comments
